My mother has a blog, and when the spirit moves her, she writes and posts. Yesterday she posted a blog entitled Working Mothers. It occurred to me as I edited it and helped her re-write it a little bit that the term "working mother" is such a loaded term, and yet it shouldn't be.
I'm sure there are mothers who are wealthy enough to hire maids and nannies and they never have to stay up all night with a sick child or do any of the tasks that regular moms do, but I'm not speaking to those moms. Go in peace, super wealthy moms.
No, I've never known a mom like that, in real life. I only know moms who work really hard, whether at home or at work, or both.
When I was small, I only knew two moms who actually worked outside the home. Both had been divorced, which was not typical for that time. As divorce has become more commonplace, more and more moms work outside the home. Whether that is good or bad is another debate for another post. Most moms I know who work outside the home do so out of necessity.
Since I have been grown, my mother and I have had a lot of frank and fascinating discussions about why she chose to be a SAHM (Stay At Home Mom), and the criticism she sometimes took for that.
My grandmother raised mom the best she could, under difficult circumstances. During the Depression and World War II my grandfather took a lot of different jobs, and often my grandmother had to work outside the home, just to pay the bills. Mom often came home after school to a cold, empty house, where she was alone for several hours. She would often have to go down and start up the furnace of the house, by herself. The breakfast dishes were left on the table for her to do. During one period, during the war, she had to nurse her mother, who had fallen and pulled all the ligaments in her knee. Often, she was scared and lonely and felt overwhelmed, and she vowed one day that her children wouldn't have to know that same fear and anxiety. I'm not criticizing my grandparents. They did the best they could, and Mom had two brothers who came home to the empty house too, at least some of the time. I'm just trying to say how those feelings made a huge impression on Mother.
When Mother got pregnant with my brother she was forced to quit her teaching job. In those days [1959] a visibly pregnant teacher wasn't allowed to teach. Mother hated that, hated leaving her children to another teacher, mid year. However, after miscarrying her first child, she very much wanted my brother and wanted to have more children. She had planned on 4.
Mom and Dad had agreed, early on, that she would stay home and not teach when Bruce and I were growing up.They felt like the financial sacrifice was worth it.
By the mid 1970's, Mom was keenly aware that some other mothers, those who worked outside the home, saw her as an un-enlightened un-liberated throwback to an earlier age. They thought she sat around all day and watched soap operas and ate bon bons. She never watched a soap opera in her life, and the only TV I ever saw her watch during the day was the Watergate hearings. Any sweets in the house never lasted long with me and Bruce around.
Folks who were critical of her really had no idea how hard she worked.
Bruce and I were high-energy kids and we always had activities going [Scouts, piano lessons, dance, sports teams, etc.] and hauling us around was no picnic.
We helped around the house, and sometimes Dad would let her hire a maid for a brief time, but mostly it was up to her to cook and clean and watch after us. From the time of my birth until I finished high school she had the following medical issues to deal with, also: a hysterectomy, pneumonia [requiring a hospital stay], blood clots in her legs (another hospital stay), nursing Dad through surgery and ulcers and heart issues, nursing me through pneumonia and scarlet fever, her own migraine headaches, her terrible allergies which included bouts of hives, and dealing with several of Bruce's broken bones. Plus, her father died in 1972 and her mother had a massive stroke in 1976 and had to be put in a nursing home.
We also had a cat she was allergic to, and numerous dogs, whose care and feeding usually fell to her.
She and Dad also always gardened extensively, and our yards were always lovely. Most years she had a garden, too.
My father expected a hot meal, from scratch, on the table, every night. Running up to McDonald's for hamburgers or microwaving a frozen Hungry Man dinner for him were simply not options, and there was no pizza to be ordered or takeout food to be ordered. She had to plan her meals carefully and he expected good food. When she got married she had not known how to cook, and it took help from my aunts and grandmother to get her cooking skills up to speed.
Every day, when Bruce and I got home from school, we sat at the kitchen table with Mom and ate a snack, and talked about our days. Then we did homework, and she helped us if necessary. We were not alone or scared.I think the entire time I was growing up she wasn't home when we got home from school only maybe twice, just because she was stuck in traffic.
When I was 9, we bought a cabin on the lake, and for the next 7 summers we went to the lake every weekend. That involved hauling kids, dogs, food, etc. to a tiny cabin with no air conditioning, no dishwasher, and no phone, every Friday night, and going back every Sunday afternoon. It was an hour's drive there. Dad loved going up there. It was just a lot of extra work for Mom, though, and she didn't like swimming in the lake, where she couldn't see the bottom and occasionally snakes were seen in the water. She has often referred to those years as the hardest years of her life.
above, me and Bruce at the lake, abt 1973
Sometimes neighbors were extraordinarily insensitive. One woman expected Mother to take her child to medical appointments because the neighbor worked and, as she told Mother, "you're just over there not doing anything." Another neighbor expected Mom to keep her child after school every day, for free, because "oh she just loves your house." Mom was expected to do all the work as my Brownie troop leader with no help from other moms, and they wanted her to keep their kids and take them on outings and not bother them -- and some of those little girls were real brats.
She was usually the "room mother" because Bruce and I volunteered her, just about every year. So she had to supervise all the parties and outings for our classes, every year.
She also was always active in church, in women's activities and teaching Sunday School.
My father was a great person but it was not easy being his wife. He often brought home colleagues for dinner, with maybe 20 minutes' notice to Mom that she would have 1-3 extra mouths to feed. He liked to entertain and he expected the house to be spotless and the food to be gourmet quality and usually she couldn't hire a caterer or get any extra help. Dad also kept iron control over the checkbook, and Mother had to argue with him every time her children needed new clothes, or she did, or the dog had to go to the vet - basically any expense outside the weekly grocery bill, he gave her hell over. She was never told exactly how much money was in the checking account, but once a month he balanced it and ranted and raved she was spending too much money and driving us to the poorhouse. I usually hid in my room when he bellowed "Elva bring me the checkbook!" because I knew there would be a lot of shouting.
When I got to be a teenager I remember asking Mom why she didn't return to teaching. She had high blood pressure and migraine headaches and hives, frequently, but I thought she might enjoy working again. She kept her teaching certification current in Tennessee. She said Daddy didn't want her to work. He would say she didn't want to work. I finally just thought, I will stay out of it. Even after Bruce and I grew up, taking care of Daddy was not easy.
Another aspect of it was that he not only expected a hot, from scratch meal every night of the week, later in his career he liked Mother to travel with him, and she often went along on business trips, which would have been impossible had she had a job.
So even though my mom was not technically a "working mom," she really worked hard, long hours, even when she was sick, for no pay, and she put up with constant criticism from Dad, her own mother oftentimes, other moms, etc.
Mother could have chosen a singing career. She was beautiful, and she studied voice for years. She had sung in weddings, in choirs, in plays, for the USO, and she was a soloist with the Men's Glee Club at UGA. She chose to put that aside and be a wife and mother, and she's never told me she regretted that. However, I don't think Dad every really appreciated the sacrifice she made.
When she was in her 70's she moved over here to Atlanta to help me with my kids, and for several years there she basically helped me raise my kids, which was not easy. She tutored Michael every day for several summers, which allowed him to skip a grade.
So here's to my mother, Elva Hasty Thompson, the person I most love and admire. I thank you, Mom, for all your hard work and sacrifice. I am blessed to have you by my side, helping me with my family, supporting me and loving me and my children. I am proud to be your daughter.